Aphrodesiac
by Quathy
Summary: Sherlock and John come in contact with a powerful pheromone enhancing aphrodisiac. As he deals with the fallout of their actions, John must decide what this means.
1. Chapter 1

**Aphrodesiac**

John Watson wiped a streak of paint off his forearm and came downstairs.

"One room down, and one hall way, you planning on helping me with yours", he asked Sherlock, who at the moment was engrossed in his reading. "I've removed the door already and painted the far wall. We won't need to do the kitchen or lounge with the new wallpaper"

"Bloody hell, I thought she was dead" murmured John as he looked down to the road under their font window. The snow outside was mounting heavily and it was, in his opinion, impossible for travel.

What is she doing here he thought. Not several minutes later did he hear her footsteps in the stairwell and into the room walked Irene Adler. The hairs on the back of John's neck bristled as he turned to see Sherlock lift his head. Several moments passed.

"And?" asked Sherlock letting his eyes return lazily to the newspaper in his lap. Figured there would be a bit more reaction than that thought John waiting for the woman to respond.

"And?, is that all you have to say?" she asked airily sauntering over to the detective. She lifted her left leg, planting her long heel firmly on his armrest and letting her dress fall limply to the side. John peered beyond to the woman to the detective, sitting there in his fitted trousers and purple shit.

"Just because you put your bare knee in my face… and whatever else you are showing off, does not change my level of interest." She looked taken aback, as if she were going to be welcomed, desired even.

"Why would you…" she started

"Help you escape… yes" he supplied drolly, "because I can, and why not, you were a worthy opponent. You have been conquered, no need to be a bad sport?" She was aghast. John could tell by the look on her face that she was not here to manipulate him. She had no phone, no requests, no interest in deciphering any codes and Sherlock knew that, yet he showed her no mercy. She had been his weakness and he had coldly extinguished any sentiment which once may have been, opting for desolate, sterile, resolution.

"Again, I am not interested in whatever you are offering" he said and swatted her leg from the arm of his chair as if it were an unwanted obstruction to his view, a pesky window shear or tree branch. The room was frigid as she stood awkwardly before him in her long cloak. John wondered if she had any clothing on beneath it.

"Well then" she sighed and looked out into the gray gloomy sky.

"It does not look as if even the strongest of motivators will soften your resolve" she whispered. In a quick movement the woman emptied the contents of her pockets out onto the side table and left. A small vial, not bigger than the top of one's pinky finger rolled around until to came to rest on the side of its cork.

They both stood looking at it.

"John," came Sherlock's deep voice, "don't touch it" Sherlock brought his hand up in warning. An explosive thought John.

"Should we call the bomb squad?" John asked shakily and began to dig in his pocket for his phone. "For heaven's sake I've just painted and…fumes."

"No, no, it's nothing like that" said the detective without any indication that he was worried.

"Lestrade then?" asked John.

"No need to worry him John, by my estimations, it's nothing more than an aphrodisiac, something she'd planned to slip me during dinner if she had the opportunity, besides neither Lestrade nor any bomb squad will be able to travel tonight. John looked outside again. The sky was gray and ominous and the window was now encrusted with ice making it barely possible to look through. By the looks of it, the snow was so high it has completely engulfed all four tires of Ms. Hudson's sedan. John looked worried.

"It's not an explosive" Sherlock assured him and in spite of the look of terror on Johns face, went to pick up the vial. John leapt from his perch at the window.

"What makes you so sure Sherlock" he demanded. "The woman walks back in here after faking her death, leaves a mystery vial and you just want to shake it around on a hunch?"

"I saved her life John, she thinks, or thought, rather, that…" he paused. "…that I was romantically inclined"

"Well why'd you go and do that?" John bellowed. "You can't go around leading women… especially that woman…leading them on Sherlock!" He stalked off to the kitchen.

"I wasn't leading her on. John get back here, I wasn't leading her on."

"Then you've changed your mind then?" he quipped as he popped back out of the kitchen, silver serving dish and bell jar in hand.

"If it were an explosive, are you under the delusion that you could simply scoop it up in the same way you'd scoop up a bee? Were you just going to throw it out the window?"

"There is a bloody vial in our living room that might very well blow up Sherlock, and we have no ability to get rid or it or leave the flat ourselves, do you grasp the gravity of the situation?" Sherlock grabbed the vial shook it vigorously and then tossed it to John. With a short dash the doctor grabbed it just before it hit the floor.

"If it were going to explode it would have done so by now" said Sherlock flatly. John was breathing heavily.

"You're fine, you're here, I'm here" said Sherlock in his patronizing tone, strode over to him and took the bottle.

"John you're breathing is still labored, perhaps you need a drink?" Sherlock paused and then drew in a sharp breath of air himself. The bottle was fractured and a small drizzle of fluid had leaked out into his palm. He could feel his own pulse quicken and his collar tighten and Johns breath was dry and haggard.

"I think," said Sherlock, "I should excuse myself…" he finished. Placing the vial on the silver platter, he almost dashed to the safety of his room. He could hear scuffles as John ran up the steps and into his own chambers.

"Shit, shit, shit, paint" he heard and then the scuffles began again as John raced down to the lounge. John couldn't breathe, Sherlock couldn't breathe.

My door, thought Sherlock, John had removed it. He laid on his bed, took in a sharp breath and focused on the waves running through his body. First he was flushed, then his palms began sweating and a tingling sensation crept into his abdomen and down into his groin. As it became hotter he felt as tough he had to urinate as the pressure built up between his legs. His back arched and then his knees stiffened. Peering out of his bedroom door and through the kitchen he could see John pacing. He'd periodically sit but spring back onto his feet and keep pacing then stop and bend at the knees willing the sensations to go away. Sherlock breathed in and was almost consumed by the paint fumes. Where was the door when you needed it he thought and seized again letting another wave ripple through his back, between his legs and into his knees. He clenched and then stood up shaking himself out. Pacing, John had it right, Sherlock thought as he made figure eights in the tiny space. Good lord he thought, when will it end; he saw John glace back toward his chambers and then run his hands modestly between his legs as if he were seeking warmth in the cold.

Johns thighs were burning and his stomach was a raw bottomless pit swirling with…. change of thought he said to himself. He sat down again and wriggled around on the spot. With no privacy in the flat he continued to pace. Worried that Sherlock was suffocating in the small room he marched down the hall but Sherlock stormed past him.

"John, I appreciate the concern but this is not the time" he said sinking down onto the couch and concentrating. Slowly he regained his composure and looked up at his flat mate.

"What did you want?" he asked, as if there were nothing the matter.

"How can you be so clam?" asked John who looked like he was ready to shed his skin. "I ah, I am, I wish the flat weren't full of paint fumes" he said with frustration.

"Why's that?" Sherlock taunted while trying desperately to maintain his composure. John hopped lightly on the spot, then closed his eyes as his back tensed again.

"Be…because I'm trying so hard, Sherlock…" Sherlock hummed.

"to, ah, not…" John marched across the room and gripped the couch on either side of Sherlock's head. "To, to… to not…Sherlock. I need to…" he pulled both knees up on either side of his mate bringing their groins together. His arms were stretched out in front of him still gripping the couch behind Sherlock's head.

"I need to… " he was looking for approval Sherlock realized and blinked once hoping that was sufficient. John pushed down and undulated pushing Sherlock back and then ground up and down attempting to create friction.

This was not like anything he had experienced with a woman thought John. He had no idea what to do. The desperation was growing and the sensation pounding in his groin was so intense that it drowned out any sense of heterosexual propriety. He released his right hand and pushed into the couch cushion he was sitting on hoping to get some leverage.

Sherlock attempted to remain composed and sat still as a board, not moving. John held his breath as he felt Sherlock's smooth shaven skin slide across his face. His stomach bristled at the sensation and he was inclined to kiss the man but his sense of better judgment, though weak and deteriorating, continued to hold. While his body was wrought with an uncontrollable urge for release his mind remained clear and utterly devastated by his actions.

"How can you remain like…" John groaned and ground further into Sherlock "this…" He wondered at Sherlock's stone like composure. "I need…" he repeated until Sherlock let out a slow gasp of air and began grinding back. John pushed into the cushion with one hand and pulled at the back of the couch grinding harder.

Sherlock's head rolled backward and he grabbed John's hips pushing vigorously into them. "John…" he breathed, and shoved him backward for what John felt like was an eternity. He was disgusted with his behavior, his inability to conduct himself with dignity, but craved so desperately the increased friction that he flipped John onto the couch and shoved his trousers down in the front exposing his boxer briefs. He reached behind the doctor and pulled him close as he continued to grind.

John, unprepared for this sudden response jerked away.

"It's alright Sherlock" he said, "I just need to…" John reached between them and opened his own trousers so that they were boxer brief to boxer brief. With cotton to cotton John could feel his friend's balls shift beneath him. "Oh God, Sherlock" he said as he drilled into him harder and harder seeking relief but getting none. It was as if release was not possible.

God, Sarah, he thought. Sarah would never forgive him if he had sex with his flatmate. They'd barely begun sleeping together themselves. He thought of her scent, a clean earthy lavender, her smooth skin and beautiful breasts but as he rubbed against the person in front of himself he felt only sinewy muscle and a hard unforgiving chest beneath his divine purple dress shirt and smelled the pure scent of liquid glycerin mixed with unearthly expensive aftershave. He breathed in deeply and shuddered sending a shock down through his torso.

Sherlock's mind whirred even faster than normal. John would not be happy tomorrow if this progressed he thought. He held the smaller man in place and shifted his weight back and forth.

"It's getting worse" said john matter-of-factly. Sherlock stood up and shed his pants completly, at the same time pushing Johns' to the floor. "John," he said "I am sorry about this…"

"It's fine Sherlock…" he answered as Sherlock pushed his shirt up slightly and eased back down, grinding them together. "Just…oh, yeah" he hissed as skin met skin. Sherlock lifted him slightly so he could slide his penis between his legs and between his arse cheeks.

Sherlock drew in a sharp breath as his desperation reached a new peak. He held their faces together with his palms as he moved rhythmically in and out, not liking where this was going. With difficulty, he tried not to pay attention to the fact that the room was littered by CCTV cameras and just focused on the moment, the feeling, the sensation; he also pushed the nagging suspicion out of his mind that they would have a very uncomfortable living situation on their hands come morning. Sherlock moved his hands in under John's shirt and drew them down toward his groin where he grabbed his hips.

"You know as well as I do where this is going, do you want the top or the bottom?" Sherlock asked bluntly. John stared. He knew this question was coming but hadn't realized he'd be confronted with a discussion.

"It's not a hard question John, do you want the arduous task of, shall we say arranging affairs…that means you have the luxury of pretending it's Sara you're fucking… or to be fucked yourself? There was an edge of distain to his words. John shuttered and clenched Sherlock with the muscles of his arse and Sherlock's back tensed up with urgency.

"John, John…as much as I am enjoying the repetition, this is becoming tedious" John held his breath thinking for a moment he was on private property so to speak, trespassing. "Not to say you are tedious, but the motion, John, its repetitious" Sherlock clarified as he continued to move between his arse cheeks.

"Whatever, just do whatever you'd like Sherlock" he said, his face turning red.

"Really, embarrassed, it's a bit late for that" Sherlock chided.

"So should I turn around?" asked John tentatively. He didn't particularly relish the thought. He was used to having a connection with the women he slept with. Sherlock stood up and grabbed the front of his shirt.

"Bed" he said dragging him toward his room.

"Paint" reminded John

"I'll open the windows" Sherlock pushed him backward onto the mattress and lifted the frozen frames as far as they would go.

"Jesus, Sherlock it's freezing in here."

"Unless it is remedying the situation it will have to do" John nodded uneasily.

As John was lying on his back he looked up at Sherlock and wondered if he was going to undress. Of course not, this wasn't a date, he thought. This was a necessity, an unfortunate necessity he told himself. Besides, it was a bit too cold for that.

"Do you want me to turn around" he asked again feeling strange and out of character. Sherlock didn't seem to hear or if he had he ignored the comment and straddled him again. He was still wearing the purple shirt and even John had to admit that it was a turn on. Were Sherlock standing above him on any other day in nothing but that shirt he realized, he would still be turned on.

"Sherlock, you are beautiful in that shirt" he said taking the detective off guard. Sherlock paused and then silently reached under his shirt and gripped his hips while he slid between his legs and the between the check of his arse. His skin was frigid and the wind was blowing forcefully spraying light snowflakes onto the bed.

"I predict we have a few hours left of this before it wears off" said Sherlock wiping a drop of sweat off his face before it dropped off the end of his nose.

"Right, we'll shall I flip over?" John asked for a third time but Sherlock did not answer. Instead he reached into his nightstand and grabbed a bottle of lotion and applied it to himself.

"Come here John" he said quietly. John rose to his knees and came to face his flatmate. The two stood there on their knees facing one another in silence.

"Is it wearing off?" asked John. Sherlock continued to look at him.

"Oh, sod it" he said and leaned forth, kissing Sherlock on the lips and drawing their bodies together. He pushed Sherlock back off of his knees, straddled him and lined up. It stings he thought as he pushed down onto him but kept pushing until he had taken him in completely.

"Oh my God, Sherlock, Christ" His body burned with desperation but he sat there not moving, just looking at the man beneath him. John leaned forward and kissed him again, this time on the face. Again, Sherlock looked stunned and a sudden flash of emotion swept across his face before he sealed it back in side. John began to move slowly lifting up and sliding back down. Sherlock gasped. His mouth remained open while John repetitively rose and fell until they both went over the edge. Sherlock began to orgasm filling him with an immediate rush of hot thick liquid.

"My God, my God, my God" John chanted waiting for it to end. For a moment it seemed as if it would continue forever. Sherlock's head hung backward, his mouth was open and sweat dripped from his wet curls. He eventually pulled himself forward embracing John and taking in the sensation of being united in such an intimate way. He was still ridged and from the looks of it so was John. At this angle John couldn't move but he could bear down satisfying the continued desperation within him.

"I can't tell if this is time dependant or release dependant" Sherlock gasped breathlessly. "This could last anywhere from an hour to twenty four; I'll have to take a closer look at the serum, see if it's a toxin or pheromone based." John was already exhausted. His muscles hurt and he was freezing with the window open.

"I'd say the fumes are gone" he said motioning toward the windows, indicating that it was now time to close them.

"No doubt" Sherlock responded but neither man had the strength to move and they continued to be joined. Instead he hugged the older man close to his body for warmth. "I feel close to you" he said, pulling him in even further. Moving his arm behind the doctor's back he laid him down and looked into his eyes. Slowly, very slowly, he began to move, sliding in and out of him. His breathing quickened and he began to inhale raggedy sharp breaths, leaning forward periodically to take in John's scent. His breath hitched and he orgasmed. Again it seemed to be prolonged and again both men were ridged when it was over.

"We have to separate Sherlock, I'm pretty sore" said John as he slid backward. It was as if he were retreating backward down a tunnel and then, all of a sudden he felt empty, very empty. John crawled stiffly to the edge of the bed and closed the windows before crawling in under Sherlock's silk sheets. He was still somewhat stiff but the effect was wearing off.

"Every muscle hurts" he said but Sherlock, lying on top of the covers beside him, was well on his way to sleep. John pulled down his dress shirt, tugged the blankets out from under him and covered the sleeping detective. His mind was whirring. He'd always felt connected to Sherlock, even closer than a brother he thought, his mind drifting to his own sister. Even now as the drug was wearing off he felt attracted to him, like he wanted to touch him, to feel his smooth white skin, to pull in close and sleep next to him…to feel loved by him.

Carefully John slid closer to Sherlock until he was flush with his back. He ran his hand along Sherlock upper thigh and paused on his hip bone wondering how he could feel so strongly, such intense desire to touch him. Again he ventured up under the shirt and between his legs. The skin was smooth and hot but dampened with sweat. He ran his fingers across down the length of his penis and measured him loosely in his fingers. Sherlock was long and fairly large around. Careful not to wake him he traced a line down the back of his penis, over his balls, over the perineum and back to his anus. Twenty four hours ago, no three hours ago, he would never have dreamt that he would be feeling the creases between his flat mates legs. For Christ's sake, this wasn't even a medical exam. He was lying with a man, half naked, in bed, feeling his genitals and it was turning him on. His heart jumped slightly in his chest and his stomach heaved, thinking that only this morning he had been with Sara, had been between her legs, feeling the same smooth skin, but had experienced nothing this intimate and consuming. He was all at once enthralled and repulsed, his heart was pounding with the thrill of the chase, with intense desire but his stomach was overturning ever moment or so and threatened to reject its contents.

John continued to touch him, running his finger through his crack and touching the opening. He pressed lightly noting that there was little give. He was a doctor; he knew that this part of the body was not designed for penetration, but his heart was pounding with the urge to open and enter him. John dropped the thought immediately pushing it out of his mind. For God's sake he thought this is wrong on all levels. He hurt all over, his back, triceps, his bottom and the muscles deep within it. His mind ached, his heart ached, his pride ached.


	2. Chapter 2

**Aphrodisiac**

His heart was pounding with the urge to open and enter him. John dropped the thought immediately pushing it out of his mind. For God's sake he thought this is wrong on all levels. He hurt all over, his back, triceps, his bottom and the muscles deep within it. His mind ached, his heart ached, his pride ached.

John lay awake for hours listening to Sherlock's phone as it received text after text and waiting for the arousal to subside. As he stared at the back of Sherlock's head, Sherlock shifted beside him and cleared his throat.

"Don't tell me your awake already, the sun won't even be up for an hour or so" said John.

"Already?" Sherlock, still facing away from John, began to respond. "Oh God" He was awake, Sherlock was awake when…John pushed the thought out of his mind. He felt like he was going to hyperventilate. The nauseous feeling in his stomach had not subsided.

The phone buzzed again, jumping around on the bedside table.

"Just answer your mobile" John snapped "It's been buzzing all night"

"I'm aware" Sherlock murmured. He threw it onto the bed, rose and headed into the bathroom, sheet wrapped around his waist. John's eyes widened. There on the screen was a picture of Sherlock grinding into him on the sofa in the lounge. Both of them were fully clad but the lustful urgency was more than apparent. Mycroft, the bastard, John thought. John flipped through the series of messages on the phone.

'I have a case I wanted to discuss, but I see that you are disposed at the moment'

'Are congratulations in order my dear brother?'

'Give the doctor my regards.'

He really is a prat mused John aloud. A low "Mmmmm" was the sole response from the washroom. John skipped through the childish comments and began looking at the pictures. There was one of the two of them in their dress shirts, naked from the waist down kneeling on the bed just before he kissed Sherlock. A second showed John straddling Sherlock, while Sherlock's head hung limply off the edge of the bed, sweat dripping from his hair. John got a bit of a rise just looking at the photos.

John would just wait for the time to pass. He'd never be able to keep something like this from Sara and inevitably he would tell the truth, facing another failed relationship.

"There are more than enough there John to exacerbate your identity crisis" Sherlock sneered coldly from the bathroom.

"Were you awake for, for that last night?" John trailed off. His throat closed with apprehension and his face flushed.

"The part where we had homosexual sex or where you ran your finger down me back side and circled my anus John. To which circumstance are you referring?" he asked sardonically. John choked at Sherlock's wording.

"You have to be kidding me. I should have known, you never sleep and then when you have a hard on the size of my forearm... So if you weren't sleeping, what were you doing?" he asked with embarrassment.

"What do I do when I'm not sleeping?" Sherlock leaned out the washroom, making eye contact with the doctor. "I'm thinking, John."

"I was there touching you and you didn't say a thing! You could have had the decency to warn me, to warn me that I'm making an arse of myself." John spat, the acid in his stomach curdling once again. "What does this mean then" he asked warily.

"Mean? Why must it mean anything John, we were drugged. Surely you don't mean to say we are accountable for last night's activities. There are no repercussions save for a tender arse and some soiled bed sheets." John thought about it, he was not to blame, perhaps Sara would be more understanding than he'd assumed. Perhaps there was really no reason to tell her. They had been drugged, it's not like he had cheated on her.

John got up and attempted to walk out to the kitchen but pain seared through his bottom, becoming more severe with each step. When he reached the couch he sat down, losing his resolve for morning tea.

"You bloody bastard" he said as Sherlock wandered into the kitchen. "I don't think you've done any lasting damage but I need a good hot shower."

"You're welcome to it" said Sherlock motioning toward the washroom door. When John emerged Sherlock was fully dressed and working at the table. It was as if nothing happened. He separated and measured his ingredients, shuffled back and forth from his experiment to the computer and engaged in his traditional one-sided chatter. He interviewed potential clients, hung upside down on the couch yelling at the telly and made a run to Barts for body parts. Initially John thought he was busying himself so he did not need to address what had transpired the night before but the more he thought of it the more he realized that Sherlock's behavior was indeed standard for the madman. He'd made no effort at all to ignore him, complaining to him throughout the day for lack of a quality case to amuse him.

At a quarter to seven, just as the sun was going down, Sherlock stopped and looked right at him.

"Ah Sherlock, please don't say you want to talk now, I'm on my way to Sara's. This is already going to be a difficult night, I am not going to start into a conversation now, because if we can't wrap this up, and I'll miss my date …" John sucked in a sharp breath. "We don't have time for this."

Sherlock cut him off. "Have you seen the remote for the telly, I put it here" he said pointing at the end table "not two moments ago." Sherlock remained clam but, refusing to acknowledge the emotional elephant in the room, smirked sideways in apparent bemusement over Johns outburst.

"Really, you're amused" John said furiously. He grabbed his jacket and stormed out the door. On any normal day he would have bounded down the steps two at a time but today he dashed toward the staircase took one step and froze, hobbling awkwardly down the rest. "Sara, I may be a little late to the restaurant" he texted.

Arriving just slightly out of breath he slid into the booth. Sara was wearing a semi-translucent shirt with a negligee beneath. She seized his hand.

"Lord John, I've been waiting for an hour" she said as she kissed him on the cheek. "I've already ordered take away, just a few moments more and we can take it back to my flat" she said coyly. Shit he thought, he was hoping for a public space where she could do as little damage as possible.

They walked back to her place but John stopped her on the front steps. "I think perhaps we should talk" he said abruptly worried still not certain of what he planned to say.

"This sounds serious" she mused "You breaking up with me?" she asked not expecting a serious answer.

"God no" he replied.

"Then come inside and tell me what you've on your mind." She opened the door and plunked down on her sofa. Patting the cushion beside her she beckoned him. What was he supposed to do he thought, just come out with it.

"What are you thinking about" she said sweetly. John didn't answer.

"Come on;" she whispered in his ear and slid closer to him. Slowly one button at a time she opened his shirt. Her phone buzzed somewhere in her coat pocket but she ignored it.

"I ah…ah…." John breathed heavily. The phone buzzed again and again. It was making him nervous. He just wanted to be out with it, between the buzzing and his rising libido, he was, however, unable to articulate himself. She put her hand on his knew, the phone buzzed. She ran it up his thigh, the phone buzzed. She slid it…the phone buzzed.

"Stop" he yelled.

"For Christ's sake John" she responded hotly and grabbed the phone. Sara looked at the screen and dropped it to the floor. There on the mobile were he and Sherlock grinding on the sofa, trousers round their thighs, rutting in their pants.

Mycroft, why the hell would he go and do such a cruel thing he thought. That's the only word there was for it, cruel, a way of embarrassing Sherlock further perhaps. He looked down at the image again. John was resting his head on the couch behind him and his mouth hung open. My God he thought, that had felt wonderful. For a moment he thought he could smell the faintest trace of Sherlock in the room.

"John, John, are you listening" she demanded. He snapped out of his mind and focused on her words. "You promised, you swore to me" Her whole face crumpled and her eyes teared. She sat back down and wrapped her sweater tightly around her midsection.

"I knew it. I even asked you when we started dating if you and Sherlock were involved. Is that from him? I don't see any sender. This is an old picture right?" she demanded. There was no answer. "John, you wouldn't."

"No, it's not" he said quietly. There was no point in trying to explain or in protecting his sexuality. He gathered his things and snuck silently out the door. Once on the porch he sat down shakily in the cold air. He could have called a taxi but began walking toward 221B Baker Street. The fresh air would do him well he thought.


	3. Chapter 3

**Aphrodisiac**

He could have called a taxi but began walking toward 221B Baker Street. The fresh air would do him well he thought.

John trudged through the snow, shuddering in his thin jacket. Should have taken a cab he thought as a vehicle sped past spattering him with snow and melt.

"John" someone yelled and the backed up beside him. "Get in" said Greg as John circled the vehicle.

"Why the bloody hell are you out in the cold" he asked. "You look like shit." John sighed.

"I don't want to talk about it" he turned quietly toward the window.

"Shall I take you home then?" he asked.

"The pub" John replied, just drop me off at the pub, I can handle it from there.

"Naw, it's not gonna happen" Greg said pulling in behind the drinking establishment. "You're not drinking alone tonight" I'm not up for this thought John.

"No need Greg, I'll be fine" He hoped the detective would not push the issue.

"You don't look fine" he said following him inside. "My treat" he said ordering them a pitcher. "You don't have to tell me what's bothering you but it may help to talk about it." John wanted to crawl into a corner and drink by himself.

"Really Greg, its fine" He was focusing so intently on controlling his emotions that he was unable to formulate a new response. His voice cracked and his chin quivered. Greg clapped him on the back in an awkward attempt to comfort him. Turning away, he tried to conceal his tears as they started to flow down his face.

"I can't talk for a moment" he said trying to pull himself together and swallow the raw sensations welling up in his stomach again.

"Woman troubles? Sherlock can't have you worked up this badly." Greg prodded. John rolled his eyes willing the tears to go away, willing them not to fall.

"She cheat?" Greg's voice went up in anger, thinking about his own wife's recent activities. John didn't answer.

"You ditch out on a date for Sherlock and she dumped you?" John still didn't answer.

"You cheat on her with Sherlock?" he said laughing. Still no response. "Oh God mate that's not it is it?" Greg asked incredulously. A single tear rolled down his cheek and he wiped it quickly away.

"I'm not going to be able to talk about this Greg." John choked out.

"Oh man John" Greg gaped. "You didn't even like her that much, don't waste year tears on her; if she can't forgive a drunken…" John shook his head.

"Drunk, yes" John stated. "I'm not upset about her" he said again. "God Greg, I can't talk about this" his chin quivered again and he turned away.

"Are you in love with, ah, Sher, ah, ah, Sherlock, then" he asked in astonishment.

"No!, God no" retorted John.

"Identity crisis then?" Greg sounded as if he understood this rational better. John didn't appear to hear him.

"I don't know what I feel. Sherlock has been just going about his day as if nothing happened." He took a shaky gulp of his beer.

"Hate to tell you John, this doesn't sound like it's a pure identity crisis" Greg clapped his back again, not really wanting to know how far down these tears were coming form.

"Drink up mate" Greg killed the rest of his mug and poured each of them a new one. Before they knew it they were laughing and joking, speculating on Anderson and Donovan. When John's cheeks were rosy and his eyes dry Greg approached the subject again.

"So" said Greg hesitantly "Sex with Sherlock, didn't think that was his thing. Didn't think it was your things either so, well I guess I'm wrong. Was it any good? You like that sort of thing?" John, who was now buzzed, smiled.

"It wasn't anything like that, good _like that_. I'm not gay, and I don't think he is either." He sighed. "A good orgasm is a good orgasm, and while I'll admit I'm attracted to him, to his brain and even his beautiful skin, amazing eyes, even the coat" he refocused, "I'm not really physically attracted to him, not in a sexual way." Greg just stared, clearly not able to comprehend.

"So you're gay then?" he asked.

"No, I've never wanted a man in my life, in a sexual way or in the way that I want him" Greg mouthed the word wow and took another slug of beer.

"Did you like it?" Greg waited.

"I did" he smiled. It was a surprisingly genuine smile thought Greg. "I don't like that I did but I…" his face turned red, "It didn't seem to make much of an impact on him. Last night I thought it had, but this morning he said it didn't mean anything, we were simply drunk. It doesn't look like he's thought about it since. He interviewed clients all afternoon and went to Bart's for body parts" Greg wished he could say something comforting but he had no idea what Sherlock was thinking. He liked to think Sherlock fancied the doctor but no one but the doctor was close enough to Sherlock to learn anything about his heart.

"As far as anyone knows, he's never been involved in a relationship" said John. "Not that he would have told anyone if he had." He may truly be married to his work, although knowing Sherlock he may also have secreted away any past relationships, filed them in this mind palace, where no one was privy to them but himself.

"If he were, not even his brother knows. Maybe he fancied Ms. Adler, I don't think so though. She offered her self to him and he said no." Greg gaped.

"Why on earth did _she_ offer herself to_ Sherlock_!" he blurted. "He's…"

"Watch it" said John. "Donovan gives him enough of that" He's not a freak he thought. No no, he is a freak, he corrected himself. He's a freak, an infuriating freak. He didn't know what he wanted from him, recognition that Sherlock felt something, that he wasn't the only one, that this was something, if not something in particular.

"I feel, ah" he cleared his throat "close to him." John nodded, and diverted his eyes, embarrassed by his omission.

"Well you always have I recon" said Greg.

"I suppose…but, I saw into, and this'll sound a bit strange perhaps, but I saw into him"

"Among other things…"

"Right" John dismissed the comment. He didn't really want to go into detail, not on a matter he felt was rather close to his heart. Just then his mobile rang and he snatched it up off the table expecting to see a text from Sherlock.

"Mycroft Holmes" Greg declared. "Why is he ringing you for so late in the evening?"

"I haven't a clue" lied John "Although I really should return the call"


	4. Chapter 4

**Aphrodisiac**

"Mycroft Holmes" Greg declared. "Why is he ringing you for so late in the evening?"

"I haven't a clue" lied John "although I really should return the call" John threw some cash down on the table and stepped out.

"Turn around John" Mycroft instructed him. There it was John thought, the black sedan. What the hell is going on he wondered, why the hell send pictures and then come pick him up; was he looking for a reaction?

"Seriously, Mycroft?" he asked but there was no longer anyone on the phone. Anthea or whoever she was opened the door and waited.

"I am not in the mood for this" John did not look amused. His eyes were red, from both laughter and withheld tears. She didn't bother explaining but held the door open until he'd climbed in.

"Another warehouse?" he asked. Again, no answer. The car drove to the Diogens club and deposited him at the front gate.

"Jesus Mycroft" he said as he marched into the building.

"Shhhhhh" Mycroft bit out. He grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into a private room.

"Have respect John, silent in the common room!"

"You dragged me here! And for what, to rub my nose in some private pictures. To tell me you're a sick and disgusting pervert who spies on his own brother and watches him having sex. You are a pervert Mycroft! Haven't you done enough damage? I just came from Sara's, and yeah, she ended it right there. Is that what you wanted? What did you possibly hope to achieve, were you hoping I'd resent him. That's really sick, seriously sick."

"Calm down John, calm down" Mycroft attempted to hand him a brandy and bade him sit down in front of the fire.

"I will not sit down" he said knocking the glass from his hand.

"John, sit down!" Mycroft turned on the authoritative voice and pushed him toward the chair.

"Why should I?" he hollered as he got up in Mycroft's face.

"You believe that I photographed you and passed the pictures along to your girlfriend John, I did nothing of the sort" said Mycroft, backing up. "What motivation would I have for doing so? If nothing else this whole affair draws attention to me and that is not something a man in my position would wish to bring upon himself. I'm not going to deny that your flat is outfitted with CCTV cameras as is Sherlock's bedroom but they are not inspected on a daily basis, and for nothing as insignificant as a drunken fuck!"

"You don't know anything!" yelled John and pushed Mycroft in the chest.

"Your bedroom habits are not the reason I have called you in this evening doctor" Mycroft spat.

"There is only one person with a history of espionage whom you have been in contact with in the last twenty four hours and that is Ms. Adler. Use your deductive capacities doctor, surly you understand the significance of those pictures now?" John realized that he had been rather consumed by his emotions and perhaps a bit ready to jump to conclusions.

"I just thought, ah, because of your text messages" John backed down and retreated to the seat in front of the fire. Really Mycroft had nothing to gain except, perhaps, a triumph among siblings. He'd never done anything quite this extreme before and the CCTV cameras had, according to Sherlock, been in place, since he moved into the flat.

"I know what you are thinking John, that I had sole access to the camera footage and that I sent you copies of the photos, but that's what they were; they were indeed copies" Mycroft said.

"And you just received them anonymously" quipped John in an unbelieving tone.

"Exactly, but of course the anonymity is mere dramatics, perhaps deniability." John was now listening.

"So what you're saying is that the woman hacked your system and is what, sending them to everyone as a warning then" John summarized.

"Precisely, a warning that she has them and that she has to power to use them at her discretion just as she has exhibited this evening. She now has leverage over the British government… and over Sherlock, should she feel the need to exact retribution for yesterday's disgrace. That is, if the visit to your flat was not simply motivated by a need for evidence"

"Dear Lord" Johns mind was going a mile a minute, what the hell was she going to do?

"What does she want Mycroft? She's going to release those pictures to the public."

"Protection, from her enemies. Need I go into detail, surely you know the story" Mycroft plopped down in the chair next to him.

"And are you going to give it to her?" he asked.

"I don't see as I have any choice in the matter, now do I doctor. You owe me one I believe" he said chuckling. John let his head drop to back onto the headrest and let out a long drawn out sigh.

"Something the matter?" asked Mycroft in a knowing tone.

"You know very well what the bother is" he replied. "If I go back tonight I'm going to go crazy; Sherlock hasn't said anything yet, just gone about his business and if I stay out _I'm _just going to look like the one with the issue."

"Ah, yes feelings…" Mycroft muttered.

"Yes, yes I know he doesn't have them, that neither of you have them" John rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Doesn't have them John or doesn't prefer to let them dictate his actions?"

"He's thinking then? Is that what he's doing? And he plans to act then, when he comes to a conclusion?"

"Perhaps, depends how you define act?" Mycroft uncrossed his legs and leaned toward the doctor. "To discuss what happened, unlikely. My guess is that his decision may simply be inaction." John's knee started to bounce.

"You are not gay, surely inaction is the preferable outcome?" Mycroft prodded.

"That's right" John didn't sound altogether sure of himself.

"We'll then, it doesn't appear as though there is anything to discuss."

"Right, no, no I guess there isn't" said John rising to leave. He was half way out of his seat when Mycroft leaned toward him.

"You know, doctor, if I am wrong, and in this case there is a good chance that I am, Ms. Adler may not want any protection at all, she may simply want revenge." He smugly wrinkled his nose and lifted his eyebrows. John lowered himself again.

"But you just said this was for protection, and if we give that to her we don't have to worry" his cheeks were beginning to flush with anxiety. There it was, out on the table, Mycroft thought the woman was spurned. Was it just a matter of time, John thought, before their pictures were posted in the tabloids for all to see, or even worse on the internet. Was she punishing Sherlock or the both of them he wondered.

"Has she, ah, has she made any demands of you Mycroft?" he asked hesitantly.

"Not yet, no. She has also yet to make any demands of you" Mycroft reminded him. John's heart sank. She would have made some form of demands by this point if she wanted anything, if the inevitable could be prevented.

"Why is she punishing me?" mused the doctor aloud.

"Must you ask, really?" Mycroft said disbelievingly.

"So what do we do then just wait?" John was ready to take any preemptive measures necessary. "Can't you just find her, you fellows do that sort of thing, and move in on her?"

"If her intentions are not to blackmail me now, they would be after that" Mycroft countered.

"So what then! We just sit around and wait?" The heat was flaring up in Johns face. He wanted to move, to take action, but had no path upon which to focus his energy.

"That, I believe, is what Sherlock's approach has been thus far. Surely he has deduced the severity of the situation" Mycroft took a drink of his brandy. John shot back the last of his drink and made haste for home.


	5. Chapter 5

**Aphrodisiac**

"So what then! We just sit around and wait?"

"That, I believe, is what Sherlock's approach has been thus far. Surely he has deduced the severity of the situation" Mycroft took a drink of his brandy. John shot back the last of his drink and made haste for home.

Taking two steps at a time John ran up the front stairwell and into 221B Baker Street.

"Sherlock, Sherlock" John called out. Was he out wondered John. God knows where he'd be, he thought and then he heard a muffled noise. Franticly he surveyed the flat; Sherlock was not in plain view so he ran back to Sherlock's bedroom.

"Oh, God, Sherlock, what in Saints creation's happened?" John rushed over to the detective who was sitting on the side of the bed, gagged, handcuffed to the bedpost by one arm and bleeding form the cheek. He pulled the gag out of his mouth but realized that he had no key.

"John, oh, John, you are not going to be happy" said the detective.

"I know already Sherlock, Mycroft picked me up at the bar a few hours ago, I'm not angry with you."

"I'm not sure we're talking about the same thing" muttered Sherlock.

"You know Sherlock, I'm not sure I'm really able to undo these" John said pointing to the cuffs. He pulled out his mobile and dialed Lestrade.

"Well?" John hung up the phone and waited for Sherlock to continue.

"I'm not sure I want to tell you until I have my hands free" said Sherlock petulantly avoiding his gaze.

"I know about Irene Adler Sherlock. Is that where you've been all day, looking for her?" Sherlock shifted about nervously. "I see you've found her"

"Um, yes, well, I have found her, or rather she found me." Sherlock was hesitant to continue.

"Sherlock, is, is that…" Oh wow thought John. He reached over and pulled down the detective's collar. "Is that a bite mark?" There just under Sherlock's jaw was a small bruise and a smudge of lipstick. Upon closer inspection he noticed that Sherlock's shirt was buttoned unevenly, his breathing was ragged, the fly of his trousers was down and a small vial lie at his feet.

"Be careful, don't touch it, it's open" he said remembering the vial.

"You didn't Sherlock?" asked John in a strange and pensive tone. His heart sunk somewhat, sending a slow cold shiver through his abdomen. John snapped his head around to look at the bed. Made. Odd he thought.

"No, I didn't John and now it's too late" Sherlock tugged at his confines, unable to go anywhere.

"So you would have slept with her then?" John probed.

"Of course I would have!" he blurted. "Had I known what she was going to do?" John's face became very sullen.

"What exactly has she done Sherlock" his heart skipped a beat.

"Well for starters, she tried to seduce me. Ambushed me as I was lying on my bed."

"_Sherlock, your heart is not so cold as you would have us believe" she said climbing on top of the bed and straddling him. Ms. Adler ran her hands up the length of his torso, leaned in and bit him as she undid his shirt. _

"_What do you hope to accomplish here?" Sherlock asked, his curiosity piqued._

"_Why to prove that this sociopath act, is nothing more than an act. My, what would every criminal in London give to know that the detective has a weakness. He has a heart." She reached under her long skirt and began unfastening his trousers. Sherlock took in a sharp breath and attempted to buck her from his body. She grabbed one of his arms and fastened it to the headboard above._

"_Give in Sherlock, there's nothing you can do." She popped the top off the vial, drizzling it between her fingers and running it down the side of his face. "The pheromone will take over intensifying any feelings. Think of it as a very powerful uninhibitor. You will not be able to mask it. You have a heart Sherlock, I saw it. I saw you touch him," said Irene running her fingers over his groin, "fuck him" she ground her hips into Sherlocks', "and make love to him" she whispered airily into his ear. "You do not have a choice, your defenses should be…." She ground into him again, this time pushing harder and moving in a circular pattern. "Your defenses will fall and you will not be able to control yourself. Your baser instincts will betray…" she ground in again "your…heart!" she declared._

"_Ah, but you have forgotten one thing" said Sherlock. "One can not unmask what one does not possess. While inebriants may leave one uninhibited, one must possess a baser desire." Sherlock rolled sideways pushing her off of him. In furious retaliation, she grabbed her whip, struck him across the face and left. Within moments Sherlock could hear text after text coming in on his mobile._

"What exactly has she done Sherlock?" repeated John.

"See for yourself" he said and tossed the doctor his phone. Just then John's own mobile received a text, and then another and another and so it continued, messages from Molly, Lestrade, Anderson, Donovan, Harriet. "God knows how many people's she's distributed this to" cried John looking at the screen. She'd sent one picture, the picture of John atop of Sherlock. Sherlock's head was dangling from the end of the bed. There was no mistaking what they were doing. John crashed to the floor in defeat, collapsing against the side of Sherlock's bed.

"Don't touch me" Sherlock jumped back.

"What's wrong with you?" he retorted. Sherlock's face was swollen and his face red. Maybe he'd gotten a concussion or something.

"Shall I examine you? Did she hit you pretty hard then?" John moved to look at his cheek.

"John, John, please just move back" he was sketchy, as if he didn't quite trust himself. "If you would be so kind, would you please call Lestrade and ask him NOT to come" John was confused.

"How are we supposed to get you out of those cuffs then?" John asked in bewilderment.

"We will find an alternative method! Just call Lestrade."

"Not until you tell me what's going on!" he demanded. Sherlock looked down at the floor trying to hide his embarassement.

"Think John, you have enough information at your disposal to draw your own conclusions" Johns eyes remained blank. "The vial, John, she drizzled it on my face."

"But you haven't, until this point that is, had any reaction to it…if you are indeed having a reaction" said John as he texted Lestrade.

"Of course I have you bloody idiot!"

"Then why are you here then and our pictures over every tabloid in London? She ambushed you while you were lying down and seduced you, you said it yourself.

"Tried to." Sherlock said quietly "She's not exactly my cup of tea" John was taken aback.

"And I, I am your, your, cup…of tea?"

"If you want to be picturesque, yes"

"But you don't do relationships….or am I being presumptuous?" Sherlock focused on the wall behind John avoiding his gaze. Eyes, he thought, really are windows the soul and in this state he could not afford to leave them unguarded.

"The answer is yes….your being presumptuous… sort of" Sherlock continued to stare at the wall.

"Sort of, what the hell does that mean?"

"It means that we are having this conversation while I am as sexually attracted to you as I could possibly be and I have not made any advancement what so ever…" John cut him off.

"Right, I get it, I know you aren't really sexually attracted to me… but… you had sex with me"

"And you are not gay, yet you had sex with me." Sherlock's eyes moved away from the wall and focused on Johns.

"You wanted release John, and I wanted you" Sherlock spoke with confidence and it chilled John inside. There was no unabashed pretence, just pure honesty. "The aphrodisiac releases inhibitions. You gave in to your sexual desire and I gave into my desire for affection… not necessarily physical affection, but your affection, to feel close to you, to know you wanted to feel close to me." John was astounded.

"You are under the influence" said John. The Sherlock he knew did not share like this.

"So you're saying I'm gay then, that is if I was sexually attracted to you" John didn't know what to think when this question was so clearly put before him.

"Attracted to me I suppose" Sherlock's cheeks flushed slightly. Very lightly he touched his lips to the doctor's. John looked unbelievingly at the detective.

"You said you weren't attracted to me?" he stated.

"It's not sexual John, its…" he words seemed to fail him "I don't desire sex…" Sherlock tried to articulate himself. "I'm not sure what to say." This was a first.


End file.
